The Cloak and Dagger Circus
by Ravenpuff
Summary: On Hold for the moment. AU Summer before fifth year, Harry steps out and rediscovers the beauty in living, finding a life well-worth fighting for. If only Dumbledore would leave him be. R.A.B. What DH? Alternate paternity for Harry. HPLL
1. The Cage Door

The Cloak and Dagger Circus

Story Summary: The summer before fifth year is anything but quiet for Harry. He asserts himself in the magical world but his ability to survive there depends upon his skills of evasion, as he's being tailed by the strangest crowd of magical folk he's ever seen. At least he has friends to fall back on - though perhaps not the ones he'd have expected before this all started. He's lucky to have found Luna Lovegood, who is a steady friend whether he's confronting the Dursleys, the Ministry, Death Eaters or even the Cloak and Dagger Circus.

Notes: The plans for this story were hatched before DH was released. This story contains my own harebrained ideas about R.A.B., the locket, Severus Snape and Lily Evans. So, as of DH, several plot points in this story are AU. The story begins at the start of Harry's summer after fourth year and the reason it was started is that I think it's just such a waste that Harry's summer in canon was spent in complete boredom and ignorance at the Dursleys while everyone else was in on the loop of the Light's rebellion.

Warnings: Mild swearing. Contagious insanity (Luna), wreckless endangerment of a minor (Dumbledore), violence against a minor, an owl and all things cute and innocent (Dursleys), stuffiness (Hermione), teenaged rebellion (Harry), sexiness (that's right, Sirius and Remus are in this story), snarkiness (not just from Snape), the occasional adult insinuation and a few clichés. Much of my plotting was done while I was on an Independent Enlightened Harry kick. There are two clichés of which I am so ashamed that I simply must warn you over. First, Harry will be spending time at Gringotts and I'm sure you can guess at most of what happens there. Second, later on, Harry will be playing the 'Who's my Daddy?' game - although I think the answer will be a touch unique and I swear on Dobby's grave that it is _not_ 'Severus Snape,' although he will eventually have personal involvement in Harry's life.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Cage Door

Harry walked down the street in what was becoming his routine circuit of the neighborhood. He'd been back at Privet Drive for a week and had felt restless from the moment he'd gotten into his uncle's car at the train station. Voldemort was officially back in business, the Wizarding World was the Dark Lord's ignorant, easy game and what was the Boy Who Lived doing? Chores. The _muggle_ way. He rounded up the block to one of the features of his habitual wandering, the park, and strolled across the grass to an old walnut tree situated on a small hill, sitting down against its trunk. Brooding was a new hobby of his but this particular stop had a less self-destructive purpose, one of harmless mischief. Settling back in as relaxing a pose as possible, he waited for the telling hoot.

Aside from being anxious in his hell away from home, he was very, very bored. The Dursleys were repulsively stupid creatures with deep interest in showing themselves as his betters. Living with them was stressful, tiresome and constantly dispiriting. As an alternative to losing his mind, he had divised small ways of finding fun in spite of them, namely in affirming his nature as something completely contrary to them. Sitting beneath a tree in a muggle park, surrounded by non-magical people, he found a twittering guilty pleasure in having his owl perch in one of the branches above him, in the image of an owl and wizard resting in a spot of nature together. He heard her wings beating before he saw her and looked up with a small smile as she landed on a low branch, out of sight unless someone were under the tree. She cooed at him lazily and he went back to his lounging. It was silly, small and worth the trouble.

Ron had already written him once, about three days into their summer break, which was highly unusual. Something had seemed off in the letter, as though he were very excited, trying to get to a point and then leaving it out. Two days later he'd gotten a similar, if less disordered missive from Hermione which had reminded him of her evasive nature all throughout their third year, when she'd been concealing the time-turner from him and Ron. He couldn't think of anything they'd be hiding, so he figured they were just uncomfortable, imagining the third task and his part in the resurrection of Voldemort. The thought of his blood in the veins of his parents' murderer made him sick enough, he didn't think they could just nod it off. His being a Parselmouth had taken a lot longer than a few weeks for them both to stop being squeamish over and it still wasn't something he'd want to bring up, even if they didn't seem to mind anymore. _Probably writing so soon because they're worried I'll snap, so they're trying to keep the Harry-might-go-mad situation as under control as they can manage it, from a distance. Kind of nice of them._

The person he'd been hoping for a letter from hadn't written yet and he was doing his best not to worry. Seeing Sirius go off on some mystery mission for Dumbledore with a troupe of Death Eaters loose in England had only set his nerves on fire at the time but after contemplating just how many things could be happening to the man, how terribly wrong everything could go for the two of them in a matter of minutes if just the right tragedy occurred, he sometimes felt like someone his friends _ought_ to be monitoring for signs of insanity. He'd figured out that he really couldn't safely send a letter, not without risking his godfather's location being exposed; Hedwig was a smart girl and he knew it but everytime he thought of sending Sirius a letter he pictured her delivering it to a scruffy black dog on a public street. There was no choice but to wait for the man to initiate contact, which put him in the familiar position of worrying madly and idling helplessly.

He stretched and entertained the vague fantasy of writing Remus Lupin, one of his father's friends. As it had been since the end of his third year, the notion was bitterly vetoed by his inner-skeptic, which he and his inner-dreamer thought of as his inner-cranky-critic, a paranoidly cautious and self-protective side of him which had been born under the Dursleys' tender care. In spite of his own negative opinion of this vitriolic inner-voice, he normally agreed with it and since the discovery that Professor Lupin had spent nearly a year practically lying to him and over twelve years hiding from him, Harry and his Cranky Critic were not kindly disposed towards the man, even if the 'let's-befriend-him' dream wouldn't stop popping up. Too many arguments came to mind that his inner-dreamer couldn't fight against, starting with, _'Where was he when you were dreaming of a father or even a distant relative coming to take you away from the Dursleys? What about when you'd eye a police car and just wish they'd ask the right questions about your homelife, take a stand for you? Where the hell was he?'_ He supposed he could ask the man where he'd been but that would be showing more of himself than he knew how to cover back up.

He just longed for a better connection to magic that summer than his school books and memories. Experience with high stress levels suggested he keep his mind off circumstances as much as possible but with everything but his owl putting him on edge, he didn't think he'd last the summer without going barmy and giving the Daily Prophet something awful and true to write about him. _Nine days, Potter. You've been home nine days and already you're bemoaning life, you pathetic sod._ He opened his eyes, looking for something to distract him from his self-criticism. _One thing to be said about the Dursleys, absence could never make the heart grow fonder. It seems the more time I'm away from them, the less I want to see any of them ever again._ He fixed his gaze on a grey squirrel who had carelessly wandered to a spot about four feet to his left. He was surprised the animal wasn't spooked by him, only quirking its head and then preening itself beside him. _Just think, he's grown up with Dudley down the street, too._ The squirrel finished preening and gave him one long look, then turned tail and ran off to a nearby bush. Harry smirked, then began to close his eyes again, imagining the lives of busy park squirrels, battling kids like Dudley without becoming nuts.

It would have been like any other lazy afternoon, were Hedwig not so agravated by her master's restlessness. For nine days, he had been acting like a caged bird, pecking and squawking about their muggle nest in boredom and frustration. If she didn't want him healed, she would have made herself clear and put a stop to his restless shuffling and random magical surges with a few hard bites. He was hurt, she knew. Worried, about his dog friend. Guilty, about the evil in the world. Hopelessly stupid and meandering, in general. _No,_ she thought, _must not insult my wizard. Must not insult my - oh, Artemis, there he goes again!_ Whatever Harry was thinking, he was leaking enough magic to set her feathers to ruffling. Hedwig hooted agitatedly and looked down at her wizard reproachfully, for all he noticed. Something had to be done to fix her boy, before she lost her patience and bit him.

_Harry wants out of the cage. Weasleys?_ Her wizard hadn't been very happy with the letter from his brother Ron. He'd told her that it sounded as though he were being decieved by him. _More frustration master doesn't need. Hagrid?_ She was fond of the loving giant but he was the same man who, according to her wizard, had seen him starving and cold, whisked him away from it and then brought him straight back. These actions made little sense and so there was no supposing what he might do. The only other way Harry had gotten out of his cage in the past was on that horrible rolling room. Hedwig's wings bristled as her master's magic flared once more. _Horrible rolling room it is..._

Laying beneath his owl familiar's watch, dreaming of a simple and free life, feeling his magic stirring at the imagined freedom it longed for, Harry Potter was struck on the head with a walnut. He made a show of himself, darting up and whipping his wand out as he searched the park for his attacker. When she revealed herself with a deep hoot, he looked up and then watched transfixed as Hedwig launched off from the branch she'd been perched on and swooped down in a slow circular arc, coming around to him. He'd expected her to land on his shoulder and so he was quite surprised when instead she went for his wand and snatched it right out of his hand.

"Hedwig!" he half-shouted in shock. _Honestly, what's she playing at?_ he wondered as she looped back around to fly past him and out towards the street. Not wanting to be left alone in public without a wand when Voldemort or Death Eaters could be anywhere at all, he gave chase. Running after his usually quite prim snowy owl, who had actually _stolen his wand_ from him, he mostly just felt amused at the sight he thought they must make in muggle suburbia. _Of course, it's only funny until someone gets Stupefied._

He followed her down four blocks and three shortcuts, until he came out from a short alley behind the local convenience store and skidded to a stop as he could see her. Looking around, he shook his head when he spotted her. She was quite a sight indeed, perched on the wooden post a bus sign was nailed to, his wand laying in front of the post's base. He came forward and collected it, feeling a rush of security at having it back in his possession, then raised an eyebrow at her. "Game over now, girl?"

To his surprise, she began making angry hissing and clicking noises at him. "I suppose there was a point to all this then?" She hooted softly in agreement. _Well, the most obvious is -_ "Hedwig, this busline really doesn't go anywhere interesting. It's more of a shuttle - like from town to town." She screeched at him and he glanced around nervously, hoping no one came to investigate. Giving her a mild glare, he found her to be glaring back. _Alright, so she thinks I'm being thick. Stole my wand and -_ "Oh," he said in realization as he held his wand aloft before him and looked at it anew.

Hedwig swooped down to perch on his shoulder, nipping his ear and cooing at him. _Good wizard,_ she thought, _must praise the dumb thing, he puzzled it out before getting bit. Good boy._

Harry gave her a broad grin. "I hadn't thought of that." Reaching up to stroke her feathers lovingly, he praised, "You're such a clever owl, you know I'd be right stuck without you. Literally." She basked a moment, cooing happily, then took off again, this time going in the direction of Privet Drive, towards his open window. Giving a sigh, he too turned back towards Number Four, walking at a sedate pace. _The possibilities...I think I'll be spending a lot less time with my 'family' this summer and for once, it won't be because I've gotten rescued._ The word 'rescue' brought to mind the world's trouble at hand and his shoulders sagged a bit as his temporary glee disipated. _It's about time to stop counting on someone saving me anyway. The cavalry tends to go missing whenever Voldemort's around._

He walked down the street lost in his thoughts but even if he had not been, he likely would not have noticed the grey squirrel following him from bush to bush.

* * *

The next morning, after doing the breakfeast dishes, Harry went out for a morning walk with a few coins in his pocket, stopped at a patch of road in an unpopulated wood and raised his wand.

Harry didn't have long to wait before the Knight Bus pulled up beside him. Stan Shunpike came out, his bored expression jolted at the sight of, "Harry Potter!"

"Could you not say that?" _Just watch, the bus will unload in a minute and twenty Death Eaters who were on their way to Camp Munch will swamp me._

"Right, _Neville,"_ the older teen said with a wink and a cheeky grin.

"I'm going to the Leaky Cauldron," Harry said as he fished a Galleon out of his pocket. Stan took it and asked if he wanted any services on board and at the boy's refusal handed back his change of six Sickles. He boarded and settled down half-way back, bracing himself for the lurching, warping madness that was a wizarding bus ride.

The third stop was his and he gladly rushed out, thanking Stan as he came to stand on the walkway before the entrance to the Wizarding World.

"Our pleasure, Neville," Stan said before the door closed behind him and the bus warped out of sight.

Harry grinned as he walked to the Leaky Cauldron's door, glad he didn't have anyone waiting for him this time around. _Being on the Minister's bad side has benefits._ He brushed his hair down so that it covered his scar and went in with his head ducked down, going straight through to the back alley where he tapped the bricks to reveal the entrance to Diagon. As he breathed in the air, he imagined it tasted differently than the air of any street in Muggle London. The Alley was less busy than he was used to and he was glad for the walking space.

While his fear of the magical world disappearing had all but vanished after his second year at Hogwarts, the sight of broomsticks in a shop window was still reassuring after coming out from under the watch of the Dursleys, who would all be thrilled to have this world taken away from him. Compared to the dullness of his muggle homelife, just walking down the street was a joy that sang through him. He went down the Alley peaking in windows at a leisurely pace, nothing holding his interest until he reached Eeylops Owl Emporium, where he thought he ought to get something for Hedwig, since she was the one who had reminded him of the Knight Bus. _How do I reward that? A golden cage?_ He went in and looked around curiously, never having actually gone in before, as Hagrid had been the one to purchase Hedwig.

It was dimly lit and filled with the soothing white noise of feathers ruffling. Before him, in the center of the shop, stood two long walls of cages, most of them occupied. What he could see against the actual store walls were empty cages, treats and various care items. He was attracted to a display of pink, mouse-shaped owl treats and went to investigate the far right aisle. Reading exactly what was in them, he grimaced and picked up a package anyway. Moving down the same aisle he saw toys for owls which could squeak, run, fly, bounce and or hoot. There were small toy owls, fluffy and realistic, that made baby owl noises and fluttered up and down; a sign on the large flat basket they all sat upon read 'Nest Fillers.' _Oh, I can just picture the glare she'd give me...the hunting toys look better but what if she eats one?_

Wandering to the back of the store, he found the products phased from obviously fake to completely live. The right half of the back wall was taken up by cages of rodents, insects and reptiles. He eyed a tank of frantic grey mice and tried to consider bringing one home to Hedwig. With all the summers they'd spent together, mostly eating the same things, it was easy to forget that she preferred her food live. _To think that we spent the first summer out of Hogwarts eating thin soup together and she still likes me. She definitely deserves a nice toy. I can't bring a mouse home anyway, Aunt Petunia would completely lose it on me._ He backed up several steps and picked up a flying winged mouse toy, advertised as nearly unbreakable and due to size, completely inedible. The fluffy amusement would cost him three Galleons, seven Sickles and reaching into his pocket, he realized that was nearly all he had to spend, after getting the owl treats as well he'd only have three Sickles and four Knuts left. When he went around to the counter a man who reminded him of the bird-like features of Professor Hooch was standing there waiting. He paid and left, heading towards Gringotts where he would have to pick up at least the bus fare home.

The bank was located at the apex of Diagon Alley and during the walk up Harry found himself averting his eyes from meeting those of other wizards. Something made him feel as though he were standing out more than usual. It was only when he noticed a few men openly staring at him that he remembered Dumbledore's announcement at the end of term. _They're thinking of Cedric and wondering why it wasn't you, the one Voldemort had actually been after. Anyone could work out it wasn't Cedric who was supposed to die._ He ducked his head down and hurried along his way.

It was only at the entrance to Gringotts that he raised his eyes again. He reread the familiar threatening poem at the top and went through the doors in an almost skittish gait. Entering the bank he saw another reason he was sticking out so much; he was the only one there dressed in muggle clothes, which made sense so early in the summer, and he was also the most shabbily dressed. He'd always wondered why the sight of Dudley's castoffs wouldn't shut Ron up about being poor, when compared to Harry in his muggle attire the other boy looked like a king, if an ill-fitted one. Slinking to the nearest banker's desk in his holey shoes and threadbare baggy clothes, a few sidelong glances confirmed his suspicion that he was also the youngest one there.

"How may I help you?" The Goblin sneered out. The polite words formed by the twisted face reminded him of the Dursleys when they were trying to make nice with someone they disapproved of, to avoid creating a scene.

"I'd like to make a withdrawal from my vault."

"Key," the creature demanded imperiusly and Harry changed his assessment to, 'if Snape worked in a bank.'

He fished in his pocket for the key then handed it over for inspection. The goblin grunted, whatever that meant, before gesturing another over to take Harry on the ride to his vault.

Once he was standng before the room of coins, he began feeling the usual itchy temptation as the Goblin wordlessly handed him a bag to fill with money. After growing up in rags and a cupboard, he felt caught between the desire to spoil himself, as when he was first made aware of his small fortune and tried to convince Hagrid to let him buy a gold cauldron, and the panicked need to protect and preserve what he had, to prevent ending up in dire circumstances by consequence of his own actions. Looking at the little hills of gold, he thought of his discomfort in looking like a beggar among the wizarding public. Hiding new robes from the Dursleys wouldn't be too hard, the only thing stopping him was the childish fear of eventually becoming a _real_ beggar among the wizarding public. _I'll have a Hogwarts education behind me in a few years, that should get me some sort of job. It's not as though the money will last forever either way, even if I only spend a hundred Galleons a year._

Assessing the piles in an attempt to count what was there, he realized that it looked as though he was spending a good deal more than a hundred each year.

"Excuse me, er...?"

Giving a disgusted look at Harry for his lack of eloquence, the Goblin supplied, "Fentip, sir."

"Fentip, could you tell me how much I have in this vault?"

Raising an eyebrow, he drew a hand through the air to stop palm-out at his eye level and spoke several words Harry couldn't understand. "Sixty-three thousand four hundred twenty-two Galleons, three thousand one hundred seventy-seven Sickles, nine hundred thirty-four Knuts, a broken pencil and a ball of lint."

"A broken pencil and a ball of lint?"

"Would you like me to find them for you?"

"No, no thank you." _Tens of thousands of gold coins,_ a melodic voice whispered. His inner-critic, the rotten git, gave him a jolt then. _It can go faster than you'd think, Potter. Just look at how much has gone from the mountain of gold and silver you saw when you were eleven. I bet it'll be all but gone by the time you graduate and then what?_ "Is - is there a way to get a bank statement?"

Fentip tilted his head at the phrase and then nodded at him, head still held lop-sided. "A report on your vault's activity can be reviewed by you upstairs. I'll fetch the Goblin in charge of your account once we're above ground."

"Thanks," he said pathetically, wondering why he even cared. _Knowing how quickly you're losing it won't make it stay._ He took about a hundred Galleons as his summer's spending money, then shifted uncertainly as he thought of indulging in something more lasting than ice cream or bus rides. _Freedom isn't good enough for you, you'd like to pretend to be a Malfoy? What about Sirius, does he have new robes or is he suffering in a ditch somewhere in rags? Do you even care? You're becoming a Dursley now, Harry? _His head reared back at that thought, the least-liked inner voice winning in the self-preservational guardianship of the vault's gold. He turned away and followed Fentip back to the cart. They took the ride up and the Goblin told him to wait a moment.

He snuck glances at the other bank customers, brushing his hair down self-consciously as he caught a few people giving him odd looks. The clientele varied in age and size but all were in robes or floor-length dresses, the women wore their hair in neat, attractive styles and most of the men had beards of varying length. Taking a more thorough look, he counted only three other children, all of them well-dressed and attended by their parents. _And where are your's? Four years in the Wizarding World and still alone and - Sirius, I've got Sirius. He's better than a guardian, he wants me._

A slim Goblin approached him, dressed in a puffy purple and gold suit of clothes. "Digaxe," he said as he offered a hand for Harry to shake, "follow me." Harry did, feeling a little overwhelmed at the unfamiliar, adult situation. They went through a gold gilded door into a long narrow hall furnished with waiting chairs which stood outside each of the dozen or more doors. Digaxe led him down the plushly carpeted walkway and through a door that looked like all the others in the hall. The room revealed was apparently a Gringotts office, holding a large darkwood desk which Digaxe sat behind, two armchairs set in front of it, gold and plumply stuffed, and a matching sofa to the side of the door. There were shelves, holding rolls of parchment, unidentifiable baubles formed of various metals and books, lining all of the available wall space. He sat in the large chair before the desk and bit his lip as he looked at Digaxe, thinking he'd walked into a place which _he_ certainly didn't belong in.

The Goblin dipped his head in a show of respect. "Mr. Potter, I'd been expecting to see you two years ago but I suppose children develop at their own rate. And to be fair, you do have more to take on than the average child."

"Two years ago?"

A look of confusion crossed the Goblin's face. "When you reached thirteen, sir." Harry must have looked even more confused, for he elaborated further. "Thirteen is the age at which any witch or wizard of sound mind can hold control of their personal account. Typically this refers to a checking account set up for them by their parents, which is then used as a learning tool in fiscal responsibility."

"Haven't I had that?"

Digaxe seemed about to get angry, something only noticable to Harry because his face was less naturally creased from giving disgusted looks than those of most other Goblins. "No, you have not. I assumed that you were requesting a report because you wished to take responsibility for your holdings."

Being alone in a room with an angry Goblin was far from comfortable for him but next to a Basilisk or Voldemort, it wasn't very intimidating. He shook his head in exasperation. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've been using the vault for four years. No one, including at this bank, has ever said a word to me about some wizarding rite of teenage banking or anything."

There was a moment of silence. "I suppose the fault lies with me, as your account's manager. I should have taken into consideration that you did not have the benefit of instruction."

_Did he just apologize for forgetting that Voldemort made the Boy Who Lived a real live orphan? Why should he, when no one else does?_

"Your use of the vault is assumed in its contract. At the age of eleven, when you became eligible for Hogwarts, you were awarded the freedom to make personal withdrawals from your vault. Do you understand that it was set up as a trust for you?"

"Yes."

"The gold you've taken from it with your own hands is, of course, nothing in comparison to the automatic draws on the vault."

"Automatic?" He suddenly remembered his uncle bellowing that he wouldn't pay for any freak school, and wondered just how much it cost him to go to Hogwarts.

"Yes. At thirteen, upon being found competant, you would have been given control over them. I thought you wished for a report to see if they were all agreeable to you."

"Oh. Well, it wasn't why but I should probably know anyway, right?"

Digaxe nodded and drew a thick sheaf of parchment from a drawer, gesturing the boy nearer. "Place your key at the top and then bleed a few drops on the parchment," he said as he handed him a dagger which could have passed as a letter opener.

Hesitating only briefly, Harry did as he was told, cutting the tip of his index finger and pressing out a few drops of blood. Digaxe then took a different dagger of similar design and copied the motion. They watched on as their blood mingled, then vined out to form a dark red readout of the vault's information. Digaxe grunted and Harry squinted from his position, reading upside down as he tried to find the negative news.

"Don't you already know everything on there?"

"No, I only know the numbers and dates. Who the gold has been going to...Mr. Potter, please sit down, this news may be somewhat upsetting to you."

Not listening, he grabbed the paper off the desk, thinking that if it was his vault information written in his blood he could damn well read it himself. He scanned the sheet and found what he thought the Goblin must be talking about.

"Oh, Merlin." He sank into the chair behind him as his knees went weak. Harry had heard the expression, 'didn't know whether to laugh or cry' before. Now he thought he understood it. "How long?"

The Goblin was giving him a steady look, in an attempt to be reassuring, which was utterly wasted since the boy's eyes were firmly fixed on the parchment he was holding. "Since your parents' wills were activated, Mr. Potter. The withdrawals have been made automatically, once a month, since you were orphaned."

Some part of the wizard would later appreciate the straight-forward manner in which Digaxe had said that but just right then, Harry was gearing up to burn with vitriol as he felt numerous dreams and plans be tainted by the knowledge. _Nearly fourteen years._

"I understand having your parents' murderer given funds from your account is...an overwhelming blow, sir. Let me assure you that with your authority I can stop the payments immediately."

"Huh?" Harry was struck out of his cloud of painful thoughts and began looking over the document. "Voldemort?" _Lord Voldemort? Tom Riddle? His Royal Snakeface? I don't see it anywhere._

"No. No, thank goodness. I'm sorry, I meant Sirius Black, of course. He is as much-"

"Sirius? Oh, I see. Because he's my godfather, right?" _At least he gets something out of being saddled with a walking disastor for a godson._

"Well, yes. In theory, it was to be used towards your benefit, particularly your education."

Harry looked up at the Goblin to see that he'd confused the other being completely. _He must have thought I was upset about Sirius getting, _he swiftly checked the parchment,_ twenty Galleons a month?_ "Is the information shared in this meeting confidential?" _That sounded very business-like, Potter. Good show!_

"Entirely. Gringotts prides itself on protecting our clients' interests. Nothing you say here and no information regarding your account will ever be shared by a Gringotts employee unless you will it so, literally, Mr. Potter."

"The Dursleys, they've been paid out of my vault for as long as Sirius has?" _The filthy demented magic-haters._

"Yes, sir," Digaxe agreed neutrally.

"They're paid...seventy-five Galleons a month?" _Lying swine._

"Correct."

He closed his eyes for a brief moment and then quickly ran the numbers through his head as best he could. _Fourteen years...well over ten thousand galleons they've been paid._ "Do they know they have it?"

"They recieved a visit from a Gringotts representative in November of 1981, informing them of the arrangement. At their request, the gold has been exchanged for pounds and wired to their muggle bank account each month." The Goblin began eyeing his client critically, as though looking for any evidence of those pounds. Harry caught this and bitterly mused he could find them on Dudley without even trying.

"I want the payments stopped, immediately."

"To your guardians?"

"Yes."

"I'll handle it forthwith."

"Good," Harry said with a relieved nod. Then he paused as he remembered, "Don't I need to take a test or something first? You said I'd have to be found competant to manage my own affairs."

"If you did not meet the standards of your trust's contract, the ritual to reveal your vault's activity would not have worked."

"It...checked for sanity, in my blood?"

"Essentially."

_I've heard madness runs in the blood but that's just...well, it is the Wizarding World after all._ Harry shifted in the plush chair, looking back to his vault's report. _The seventy-five to the Dursleys and twenty to Sirius are the only monthly withdrawls. Hogwarts makes an annual one of...wow, no wonder the Weasleys are poor. _"Can I add a deposit into someone else's vault?" he wondered aloud.

"Yes, if they have one. You only need to tell me whose, and I'll find the number and make the adjustment."

"Would they know it came from me?"

"Unless you specify otherwise. Such discretion on our part tends to frustrate clients; there would be a small fee for the omission."

"How much?"

"One percent of one percent of the deposit or no less than six sickles per deposit."

"That's not too bad." _How many people would be anonymously donating to the Weasleys though? If they figured it out, Ron would skin you and Mrs. Weasley would probably just give it back. Or cry hysterically and give it back, more likely. But there is..._ "Sirius is no murderer," Harry said out of the blue. "He's family. He never betrayed my parents, Peter Pettigrew did. They switched secret keepers without telling anyone to throw the Death Eaters and Voldemort off the trail. It worked too well." He looked up to see Digaxe listening intently, though looking very skeptical. "I've seen proof," Harry said firmly, as though that really ought to be enough for anyone he said it to.

"I take it this means the payments to Mr. Black's account are to continue?"

"Yeah, only he's the real person looking out for me, not the Dursleys. So I'd like it raised to..."

"If I may, sir, I think you ought to consider that your parents did not assign that amount to your legal guardians as payment for taking care of you. The Galleons were meant to be spent on your personal wants and needs, Mr. Potter."

That gave him pause. _I was just about to give Sirius a salary for wanting me, wasn't I? Don't I want and need new robes? Sirius needs them more though...where is he, while I'm sitting in this posh bank office dickering over...over coins! Sirius is Merlin knows where, maybe hurt, probably hungry...and he's family! I'm not a Dursley, that means something to me!_ "I want Sirius to get another thirty Galleons a month added to his draw on the vault and I'd also like to start making anonymous deposits to his vault, another fifty Galleons a month."

"That can be done," Digaxe said with a nod. "Are you sure?"

_One hundred Galleons a month, that's twelve hundred a year. I've got...over sixty-three thousand? Stingy, aren't I?_ "No, actually. Make the anonymous deposit one hundred Galleons."

"It will be done. Any other additions?"

_The Weasleys would kill me. Well, Ron would at least._ "No, that's it."

"Did you have any other queries Mr. Potter?" The Goblin's eyes seemed alight with expectation.

"No, thank you." _This is enough to wrap my head around as it is...bloody Dursleys._ "I appreciate your help with all this," he said as he stood and shook Digaxe's hand firmly.

Digaxe nodded and said something Harry couldn't understand in a courteous tone, then followed it with, "I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Potter."

"Right," Harry said with a nod, walking out in a slight daze.

* * *

Stepping out onto Diagon again, he shifted his bag of gold self-consciously. He'd intended to use the Galleons as his entire summer's petty cash, paying for trips, snacks and minor amusements. The familiar weight of disapproving looks from strangers, his exasperated shame at his state of dress and the idea of over sixty thousand Galleons at his disposal was quickly disabusing him of his original plan. _I'm removed enough from the general public as it is, I don't want to see witches clutching their purses when they spot me anymore than I want kids pointing at my scar. At least I can do something about one of those things._ He still felt the familiar unsettling wave of fear at expending a resource which could later prove necessary but he quelled it and walked down the street to Madame Malkin's with his head held high, as though he'd forgotten his shame at being clothed like an urchin.

* * *

Thumbs up or thumbs down? Or waggly thumbs sideways? Thumb in your ear? Thumb up your nose?


	2. Clagg Memorial

**CharmedMilliE,** thank you. **Memory King,** I'm glad you're interested. The Ministry...yes, that's going to be entertaining to deal with. Please excuse me while I laugh sinisterly. **malko050987,** don't get that stuck in there. I too am looking forward to getting to the H/L stuff; I've had snatches of it written and in my head for months. It's actually the reason I'm finally doing this story. **GinnyLover14,** thank you. I agree Gringotts and Diagon are pretty old hat staples of Harry getting his own life - but I'm still going to milk them for everything they're worth. I'm glad you liked Hedwig, I wasn't sure if readers would take well to her perspective and intelligence or not. There's going to be plenty of Luna. **annoyed,** While Harry didn't give the _Weasleys_ anything, he did allot _Sirius_ one hundred thirty Galleons more than what was already being expended towards him. Not everyone has a perfectly rational relationship with money. The idea of helping to keep his godfather safe and healthy, or for that matter, _alive,_ soothes some of his present worry for the person most important in his life and far outweighs any concern he may have for his financial future. In addition to this, giving money to Sirius is not only keeping it in his own family, but also carries the assumption that it will be used to benefit the closest thing to a _parent_ he has, which in theory nurtures his future a _great_ deal more than a new wardrobe can. **Vellouette,** yes, I agree that Remus certainly could have worked a way out to see or at least contact Harry, if he'd wanted to. After all, Sirius _fire called_ him while on the run, by breaking into a house for Pete's sake (well, not for _Pete's_ sake). Then again, Sirius also lived in a cave and survived off of rats just to be _near_ him in GoF, so I'm guessing the two Marauders have very different ideas about how important it is for them to support Harry. Giving Remus the benefit of the doubt, he may not understand that he _has_ anything Harry would need or value. So, your suggestions for Harry's biological father, if not James, are Tom Riddle, Albus Dumbledore and Lucius Malfoy? ;) Kidding. Breathe easy, none of them are contestants in the 'Who's my Daddy?' game. **Fibinaci,** thank you, I'm glad you agree. Now that you mention it, I can see how that was the root of people saying Dumbles was actually evil - knowing the prophecy, he wasn't exactly handling the newly endangered hero very well. **killroy777,** here you go. Only one at a time though. ;) **dead feather,** thank you. I'm glad you think it's fun, though as far as chapter one went, I wouldn't dare call it 'new.' But then, I've read _much_ more than a healthy share of fanfiction (more like a hardcore junkie's share), and this particular brand used to be my favorite kick. **codewarriorace,** thank you for the approval. **Bobboky,** thank you.

Notes: I've taken minor liberties with Madame Malkin's character. I'm not sure if she'd mind or not. I've also taken full advantage of Florean Fortescue, but I don't think he'd mind at all.

Chapter 2: Clagg Memorial

As he stepped into Madame Malkin's, he felt relieved to get the weight of strangers' stares off from his back. If he'd thought it was his imagination when he first got there, now he was certain it wasn't. People really were gawking more openly than ever before. On one hand, there was a possibility that the thought of Voldemort being back simply increased the fanfare of watching the Boy Who Lived walk down a public street. On the other, they didn't look much adoring; somewhere on the scale between curious and wary was more like it, depending on the witch or wizard.

At least when Madame Malkin came out, all he got from her was the typical slight moue of disapproval at his clothes before she met his eyes and smiled brightly. "Here for your school robes early, Mr. Potter? You don't appear to have grown much."

_Don't I know it..._ "No, Ma'am, I'd just like some normal robes," he said with a slight flush, "for the summer. I want to spend more time in the Alley this year."

For just a second, a look came over her face that reminded him of a vulture. "In the Alley, dear?"

"Um, yeah?" _Wow she's got a lot of teeth...were they always that pointy?_

"Splendid, love," she said happily, and as she ushered him in the predatory expression was wiped clean from her face. He thought he still saw a slight gleam in her eyes though. "I suppose you're going to ask for red and gold."

He nodded. "You've got me."

She shook her head in feigned exasperation. "_All_ teenagers..." she trailed off with a roll of her eyes and gestured for him to sit in one of the plush chairs beside the pedestals and mirrors, then turned and went through a heavy purple curtain in the corner that went into the back of the shop.

Harry leaned back in the chair and started chewing on his hangnails. He knew that how trussed up a wizard was didn't change the make of him at all. Just looking between Remus Lupin and Gilderoy Lockhart could prove as much. However, his own opinion on the matter couldn't change that at fourteen, nearly fifteen, he now cared about what _other_ people thought of his looks. Just as he didn't like standing in a crowd of wizards looking like he was some bum muggle who'd wandered in by mistake, he wasn't keen on the idea of running into any pretty witches while he was wrapped up in rags either. _For pity's sake, there's even a three year old sauce stain on these pants!_

He had already worked out earlier that between automatic withdrawals and his school shopping, he'd be about twenty thousand Galleons poorer by the time he graduated. That still left another forty-three and while the idea of it was slow to sink in, he knew it meant that he was more than just a bit taken care of, at least for a few years after Hogwarts. _Provided I don't blow it all before I even graduate. I'll have to work out a budget when I get home. No more than X number of ice creams a week. Something like, say...three hundred._

Madame Malkin came back out carrying a short stack of thick books, followed by one of her assistants, who was levitating several rolls of fabric before her with a bored expression on her face. Once the fabrics were set down upon a side table, the girl was shooed away and Madame Malkin turned to Harry. "Now, how many sets of robes were you looking to buy, dear?"

He shrugged. "Two or three?"

"Alright then, up onto the stool and we'll see what we can put together."

* * *

After nearly two hours, though it felt more like twelve, what Harry had put together was that he hated selecting and being fitted for custom clothes. Yes, the four robes he was practically asleep on his feet over all looked very nice. No, he really didn't care anymore. If he'd thought he could get away with it, he would have bolted out the shop door. As it was, the only time he'd taken a step towards it, he'd been deliberately stabbed with a pin. He was _sure_ it was deliberate...

He thought it had turned out that he was right about that gleam in her eyes. Whyever people were staring at him, it was apparently a good thing to Madame Malkin for them to stare while he was in _her_ robes. There was simply no other explanation for how eager she was to dress him up. He ended up leaving the shop sixty Galleons poorer, wearing a light cotton v-necked scarlet robe with crimson trim thrown over his muggle clothes, with the promise of three more sets coming via owl post the next day, and a suggestion that he come back and let her know if he wanted _anything_ else. If he didn't know that he was being cut a deal, he would have moaned aloud at the thought of doing the past two hours over again.

Coming out into the alley once more, he went straight towards Florean Fortescue's. He definitely needed some sugar, and he liked Florean personally; the man had not only given him free sundaes when he'd stayed in Diagon before his third year, but had also offered homework help. It was probably a bit hard not to like an inventor of ice cream flavors who was so friendly. He treaded tiredly up to the window, relieved to find no line, and gave Florean a smile. "Blueberry Banana Smash with hot fudge?"

Florean grinned widely. "Harry! Of course, lad, of course. Just give me a moment." He stepped away from the window and around a partition which was directly behind him, going around and assembling the ice cream dish with many crackles and bangs. Leaning against the extended sill of the service window, Harry caught sight of a bright yellow flash against the right wall and wistfully wondered just what the man did back there. _Of course, it's entirely possible that he just does a sound and light show for the sake of being mysterious...but somehow I really doubt it. It seems like that would be beneath him._

The cracks and bangs stopped and a moment later, Florean stepped out the side door and came over to hand Harry a dish of blue and yellow swirled ice cream in a bed of hot fudge, topped with a few inches of whipped cream and a confetti assortment of small candies. "First ice cream of the summer?"

Harry nodded, taking the dish with an expression of childish excitement.

Florean chuckled and leaned closer, cupping a hand to his mouth. "On the house then," he said with a wink. "Now, what brings you to the alley this early in the summer?" he asked as they walked to the nearest table and sat down. "Haven't blown up another relative, have you?"

He chuckled. "I wish. No, I was just bored. I hate having to be away from everything in the summer. I thought I'd spend time around the Alley this year."

"Ah. Well, you're probably better off here, where you'll have plenty of wizards around you at all times. Merlin forbid something were to happen when you were with the muggles," he added as he shook his head, growing uncharacteristically somber.

_If I haven't blown Dudley up yet - oh, something._ "You've heard, then," Harry murmured to his ice cream. He felt Florean's gaze on him and looked up warily.

"News travels fast in Diagon. It's already been two weeks since Dumbledore's speech. I think even Madame Malkin could have recited it for you," he said with a slight nod at Harry's new robes.

"Well, she didn't." He took another bite of ice cream, trying to enjoy it as much as he had before Voldemort was brought up.

"Is it true, Harry?"

He swung his eyes back up and glared defensively. "I wouldn't _make it up."_ His face twisted. "Cedric didn't just _trip and fall,_ you know. I don't know why the Minister-"

"Alright, alright," Florean said as he raised his hands, "I didn't mean it like that at all, kiddo. It's just...are you _sure?_ If anyone could be sure of this," his eyes flickered up to Harry's scar and then back to his gaze, "it would be you."

Harry squared his shoulders and tilted his chin upward. "I'm positive," he said levelly, "Voldemort is back."

Florean seemed to deflate at this, as though it was the final word on a death sentence. "Merlin," he said with feeling, and leaned back into his chair with a small frown marring his usually jubilant face.

"Yeah," Harry agreed as he poked at his cooling fudge.

There was a brief moment of mutual despondency, something which makes ice cream consumption most awkward, before Florean nodded his head and began pulling himself back together. "Well. Well...it's certainly something to have warning, at least."

"I think that's what Dumbledore was aiming for. But the Minist-"

"Harry," Florean said seriously, "everyone who will agree with you about the Minister or the Ministry in general doesn't need to be told. They already know." He leaned forward and spoke lowly. "Those who would disagree have already decided not to see the truth. Understand?"

"What's the harm in repeating myself though? _I_ didn't know Fudge was a basket case until last spring. Before that, I just thought he was a pompous berk. Plenty of people might be under the same misapprehension."

A grin flitted over Florean's face against his will. "Indeed. However, keep in mind that the Ministry is located _very close by._ So, if you're going to be spending a good piece of your summer here, you may want to keep in mind that the walls have ears." He looked around in over dramatized suspicion, then leaned across the table and cupped a hand to his mouth to block his lips from sight of the alley. "You're not on Minister Basket Case's list of _favorites_ anymore," he whispered conspiratorially.

Harry couldn't help it. He choked out a surprised laugh and as he tried to quell it, found himself chuckling harder. The pall of gloom had been dispelled and his Blueberry Banana Smash was suddenly the most appetizing thing in the world once more. He smiled lightly. "I'll have to keep that in mind," he agreed, and dug back into his treat.

Florean nodded in approval. "See that you do."

"So, what is there to do around here besides shop? Summer before third year, you told me there were some museums...?"

"Yes, there are. Further up Wizarding London. You haven't gone too far past Gringotts, have you?"

"Only as far as Ollivander's."

"Well, if you'd keep going down that end of the alley, you'd come across a few side streets, much like Knockturn at this end."

"Except without the danger of being horribly murdered?"

"Well," he said with a sly grin, "there _is_ an opera house." He winked.

"I'm not going anywhere near fat ladies who sing. It's been my greatest luck to have never run into one. This," he said as he gestured to his scar, "is the result of carefully selective culturalization."

"Ah. _Lack_ of culture-"

"Equals survival," Harry finished with a serious nod. "If I'm really careful, it'll _never_ be over for me."

Florean gave an indulgent smile. "One can hope."

"So, the side streets?"

"Yes. Fen Alm Alley, Fine Alley and Historic Alley_._"

"Bet I can guess which one has the museums."

"Fen Alm has them. Historic Alley is largely residential," Florean provided.

"What? Then why-?" Harry's nose scrunched up as he thought it over. "Old pureblood homes?"

"Some of them house old families but that isn't where the name came from. You see," he said in an eager voice as he leaned forward, "in the war with Grindelwald, when he was trying to make headway in England, there was a great duel in Diagon Alley between his followers and Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore was at his peak then, just flaring with magic, and he'd always been a good sort. He was defending a muggle affiliated printing house, owned by a friend of his, which the Germans were attempting to set ablaze. There were civilians in the street, fleeing their works and the flats kept above the shops at that end of the alley. Some of them were stopping to help and most of the ones who did were made quick work of," he said grimly.

"They killed them?" Harry asked in a quiet tone. _I guess I really shouldn't be surprised. They were probably worse than Death Eaters._

Florean tapped the table between them as though making a point. "Six deaths and eleven casualties, with three crippled permanently." He huffed and shook his head, speaking as though to himself, "Braver wizards in those times. Or more foolish."

Harry frowned. Having willingly confronted Dark Wizards and a thousand year old basilisk, he didn't think it sounded so foolish to defend innocent people from criminals, particularly not so if the person was in a group. _How could they lose, anyway?_ "Maybe they just weren't taught dueling well enough."

"Yes. Perhaps." He shook himself. "But I'm rattling on. The crux of the story is this; one of the Germans made the mistake of firing a _Reducto_ at the printer's daughter, Belinda Grimm, who just happened to be Dumbledore's goddaughter, freshly graduated from Hogwarts. She lost an _arm,_ and there wasn't more than three seconds that went by between Dumbledore seeing it and turning back around and sending his own _Reducto_." He leaned back and looked well-satisfied. "Thus, Historic Alley was created."

"What? It's the end block of Diagon?"

"No, no. It's the path of the _Reducto_ curse Albus Dumbledore used. There was so much trouble covering it up from the muggles when it happened and the destruction was so severe that the area was warded off and hidden just like Diagon; it only made sense to take advantage of the situation. A bit of work and just two years later, it was fit to be habitable."

Harry blinked, no less than astonished. He slumped back and tried to wrap his mind around a blasting curse strong enough to pave a new street. "Muggles had to have been killed," he said as he realized it. _There's no way that blast had a clear path._

"Unfortunate, but yes. Some say that it was the lengths he'd been pressed to go to in defending Wizarding Britain which pushed him to seek out Grindelwald. The cost of the muggles' lives wasn't something he could discount. A battle fought with magic often turns explosively dangerous, and from then on he led the effort to keep the war off from British soil."

"Wow," Harry said as he blinked again. "Tell me again: Why can't _you_ teach history instead of Binns?"

Florean gave a long-suffering sigh, then a quiet chuckle. "But then who would make the ice cream?"

"Point," Harry conceded easily, "someone _has_ to make Fortescue's ice cream. The Alley needs it to go on."

"Precisely. Now, I've got to go tend to that customer, before she decides that isn't so," he said with a wink as he stood, gesturing towards the window, where a young witch in hot pink robes stood staring at them impatiently. "And you," he said in a louder tone, lightly clapping a hand down onto the crown of Harry's head, "get thee to a library. It's in the center of Fen Alm Alley. One Galleon to get your card but you'll use it all your life. A bad teacher is no excuse for a poor grasp of history," he teased as he ruffled Harry's hair and wagged a finger at him.

Harry snorted. "Right. Thanks, Florean." He stood and his empty dish vanished from the table. "That at least gives me somewhere to hang out more than once this summer. Do they have comic books?" he asked with a small smile.

_"History Section, _Harry," he said mock sternly, and then he turned and began walking towards the waiting witch. Looking towards the service window, Harry reeled back a bit when he saw her. She was staring straight at him, looking frustrated with something.

_They don't make 'em like that in Surrey. Or Hogwarts. Or possibly planet earth..._ She looked to be in her early twenties, with startling violet eyes and long curled blonde hair. She was wearing hot pink robes opened to a white belly shirt with the Weird Sisters logo printed on it and black leather pants. Harry blushed as he noticed her belly ring and turned his eyes back up to her face, to find her smirking at him. Taking a step back, he wheeled around and started walking up towards the deep end of Diagon. _Right. Able to face Voldemort and dragons, but not a pretty witch with piercings. I'm alright with that. This isn't cowardly fleeing at all._

As he went further on, it came to him that it wasn't really the belly ring which had gotten him speedwalking down the alley. There was something unnerving about the way she'd looked at him, as though she had a personal interest. _And the way she stood..._ He stopped walking suddenly. _Her hand was ready to grab her wand._ He looked back from whence he had come, feeling his gut chill and his heart rate pick up pace. _Could she have been...?_ His own wand was in his hand before he'd even decided to reach for it. _Was she a Death Eater?_

He stood still, staring back uncertainly, before deciding that whether she was or not, attracting more of her attention would be a mistake. The last thing he wanted was to have a fight start in Diagon and certainly not at Florean Fortescue's. _Besides, I've dealt with the like in Malfoy's father. If I can ignore him of all people, after what he's done to Ginny and Hagrid...and Dumbledore, Hermione, and Hogwarts in general..._ He turned back around and pressed on, wanting to find Fen Alm quickly so that he could make the most of his time; neglectful or not, the Dursleys would want him home before late evening.

When he reached Ollivander's, he marked it in his mind as he walked on that he was officially in new territory. He looked at both sides of the street carefully, not wanting to miss Fen Alm or a glimpse of Fine or Historic Alley. The shops continued on in the same scattered palette of colors and novelties as the rest of Diagon, ranging from a music shop with ornate reed instruments and guitars to a blacksmith's with wrought iron furnishings and cauldrons in the windows.

Eventually he came upon a wide turn off from Diagon on the left side. Standing out beside a glassworkers' shop was a white street sign which read in dark blue paint, 'Fen Alm Alley.' Harry stopped beside the sign and then looked further down Diagon, to a sign standing by a narrow opening on the opposite side of the street, just far enough away that it was difficult to read the lettering as 'Fine Alley.' _Well, that's two out of three found._ Taking the corner, he started down Fen Alm with great interest.

Passed the flanking of Diagon's shops, he saw the alley stretched out before him in a streak of dusty pearl white stately structures, with the odd golden dawn of a few yellow stone buildings. Bursts of lush green crept into the scene, from ivy which seemed to reach down from the rooftops towards the pedestrians and the occasional overflowing window box. A few of the buildings had moss creeping up their foundations. Plaques or wooden signs identified most of the buildings, though some remained anonymous in purpose.

The Museum of British Wizardry towered over him, a manor-like structure which seemed to go on forever. Across the street was the Morning Star Art Gallery, then a busy café, another gallery and so on. He picked up his pace, wanting to find the library quickly. When he did spot the center of the street, as he could see the end in the distance too, he knew it not from any distinction in the buildings there but from a long gap inbetween structures on the left. Coming upon it, he looked out over the park in mild disbelief.

Harry had always thought of Diagon as something unobtrusively wedged into the muggle world; a clever secret with an air of discretion. Apparently Fen Alm wasn't so humble as that. Aside from the initial rush at seeing so much healthy, living green, he was immediately struck by two words at once; 'impossible' and 'magic.' It was quite too large, perhaps two acres wide and four long, the lush lawn and low hills sprawled out as though unaware they were in the middle of London. It was populated with statues of various sizes, ranging from a granite House Elf to a painted Welsh Green surrounded by flowers in the center. Cobblestone paths wound their way through the park in seemingly random loops, going from this fountain to that bench, this statue to the gazebo, this strong oak tree to the duck pond. _It's beautiful. And does it ever beat Little Whinging._

Though he could easily picture spending the rest of the day wandering around, aimlessly investigating the busily landscaped park, he instead pivoted slowly and looked to the other side of the alley to pick out the library, wanting to get his membership card if only so that he could say he had the next time he went for ice cream. _All that free ice cream is really just a guilt-incentive to learn. Sneaky confectioner..._

Directly across from the center of the park were the opened front doors of a beautifully aged grey stone building, smothered in ivy from the top and crept up upon by moss from the ground. He crossed over to it and read printed in bright green block letters upon a large bronze plaque bolted to the right of the doorway, 'Clagg Memorial Library.'

He pursed his lips and searched his memory for any Claggs. It seemed he'd read of one on a chocolate frog card once. _Then again, most everyone important has gotten a card. Even Voldemort might end up with one._ Shaking his head at himself, he looked up to the two tall opened wooden doors of the library and then glanced over his shoulder for a last peek at the park before going in.

Harry stepped into the small alcove beyond the open doors, pausing slightly as his eyes were drawn to the colorful animated flyers papering most of the wall space on either side of him. Book releases, events at the different museums on the street, restaurants and even daycares were all brightly advertised. Looking ahead towards the gleaming lightwood floor of the main room, he saw a witch with loosely pinned white curls sitting at a smooth polished desk set in the center of a wide circle of open space, around the edges of which stood towering dark wood bookshelves, nearly as high as the ceiling. He came further into the room, approaching the desk warily.

As she heard his steps, the witch looked up from the book she'd been tapping the wrong end of a quill against. She smiled as a friendly habit. "Good afternoon."

"Hi," Harry returned in a pitiful mimicry of her enthusiasm. "I've been advised to get a library card...?" He trailed off awkwardly and shifted self-consciously.

She gave him a brilliant smile. "A new-comer! Wonderful, dear. Of course! But it's one Galleon to join, you know."

He nodded and fished the gold coin out of his bag, laying it on the desk between them.

Digging into a drawer on the right, she pulled out a wallet-sized card, shimmery green with black print, and then went to her left drawer and retrieved a pink quill. Beginning to scrawl her signature on it, she said, "Now, I'm Miss Pentwish. And you are...?"

"Harry Potter," he said in a slightly hushed voice.

"Oh!" She looked up with round eyes and stared at him in surprise. After blinking a few times, she seemed to come back to herself as she looked back down to the card and quickly wrote his name in. "Oh, _finally!_ Really,_ fifteen _is it?"

_Fourteen...but let's not be fussy._ He gave a cautious nod, wondering if he should be offended by her behavior or not.

"Well," she continued as she tapped her wand to the card, "it's about time you made an appearance." A gold glimmer shone over the green and she looked back up to him. "Your turn," she explained.

Biting the corner of his mouth, he reached his wand over and tapped it to the card. The glimmer effect was repeated, though in red.

Miss Pentwish nodded in satisfaction and tapped her own wand to it once more, sealing the deal. There seemed to be a diffusion of white electric but it was gone in only a second, and then Harry was being handed his new library card from the head librarian who smiled at him like a Cheshire cat.

He looked at the product of all that drama and felt faintly disappointed. _It looks muggle._ Tilting it from side to side, he couldn't even get a hint of something magical.

"When you check out a book, the title and due date will appear on the back in black. If they become overdue," she added with a slightly severe expression, "then the print will turn red. You can renew a book yourself only once, by tapping first the card in the back of the book and then your library card. If you want to renew it again after that, you'll have to come in to do it. You may return books via owl, but if anything happens to them you will be held responsible."

Harry gave a slight nod. "That's only fair," he muttered.

"As a member of this library you are expected to follow the rules and I reserve the right to toss you out if you don't." His eyes widened a bit and she gave a little smile. "Fortunately the rules are rather simple. No book can leave the library without being checked out first. Treat everything in here with respect, as none of it belongs only to you and all of it exists in memory of a revolutionary historical figure. Don't shout, not unless something's on fire or there's some other, similar emergency. Show respect to your fellow readers. Last, and pay attention because this is most important, you are underaged and thus only cleared for the majority of the library's material."

She pointed across from herself, to the dozen or so high bookshelves making up the left half of the circle they were in. "That end and the second floor are yours to paw through at your leisure."

"Respectfully paw through?" he clarified to show he was paying attention.

"Right," she agreed, failing to rebuke him at the sight of his slight grin. "This end," she said as she jabbed her thumb to point behind her, "is inadvisable reading for youths, but negotiable on a case by case basis. It's warded so that I'll be made aware of your presence there, and chances are you will find yourself supervised."

"Romance novels?" he guessed.

"Mostly. The stairs on that side go to the basement. They're more heavily warded. Care to guess why, Mister Potter?"

_Gosh, that's a tough one._ "They're the way to the Restricted Section, off-limits to everyone under seventeen?"

She nodded. "Strictly forbidden."

_And probably more fun than anything else here._ "Right, got it. No trespassing." _I wonder if the books on ward-breaking are in the restricted section. On one hand, it would make sense but on the other, it wouldn't be very fair to the subject if they banished it._

"Good," she said as she regained her former brightness. "Just bring me whatever books you want before you leave."

Harry nodded and sauntered away, drifting over to the open access half of the first floor and skimming over the topics. The euphoria of standing on wizard's ground was fading to an ember as he felt the similarity between this library and the one in Hogwarts; there were problems to cope with in both worlds and his last days at Hogwarts had been overshadowed by the same griefs which still smothered him in his sleep at the Dursley's. Walking through a row of magical theory texts, he stopped at the end to stand and read the plaques on the shelves around him, feeling more comfortable where he couldn't be seen. _Arithmantic Theory and Practice, Runes, Potions, Potions and yet another tall long bookcase dedicated to Potions. Like anyone needs to bother that much with it. Crafts of Magic, Warding, Herbology, Herbology and I bet it would really peeve Snape to know that Professor Sprout's subject has four bookshelves when his only has three. Take that, stinking Slytherin. Magizoology,_ he continued to read as he slowly crept through the shelves.

Moving towards the end of the room, he turned a corner and saw sunlight streaming in through a high federal window, splashing over the lightwood floor and onto a mahogany staircase set unobtrusively against the wall. Distracted as he looked at the almost-hidden route to the upstairs, he was surprised when he reflexively checked what section he'd come into and found that it was just what he'd been looking for. His heart began pounding and he checked back what would have probably been a noise unsuited to a library. He was in an alcove of three wide walls of books, uninterrupted by the sight of any other subject, with a small pinewood table surrounded by padded dark brown leather chairs. He was in the Defense section, and it was making him dizzy just to look at it.

* * *

A few hours later, the chorus in his head which resounded with something like, _Heaven, heaven, heaven,_ had at least faded to the back of his thoughts. He was sitting at the table, absorbed in watching an animated pair of duelers repeat a carefully choreographed fight scene over and over. _Dueling Dynamics_ by Trent Jacobson was his new best friend. It broke things down until he could see how much of a difference a single motion could make in who was champion. There were tips in little blue blurb boxes beside the main articles, advising the reader on everything from stretches to make them more limber to clever gadgetry which could be easily concealed and 'be the decider of who survives an unsporting match.' _Sporting,_ because dueling was apparently an approved recreational competition, like Quidditch, and Harry was just on cloud nine. Considering the size of the Defense section, he was willing to bet that every book mentioned in this one was somewhere around him at that moment.

For the first time, he could almost sympathize with Hermione - with the exception that his hunger for knowledge was _practical,_ rather than academic. As the scene ended, he tapped the point of his wand to the picture, as the beginning of the book had instructed, and it restarted once more.

Chewing at his fingertips, he looked up as he heard someone coming down the stairs and he caught sight of the window, filtering in far less light than before. _Great. What time is it, anyway? Fourish? Five?_ He shook his head at himself and closed his book, picking it up along with another which had snatched his interest earlier, _The Best of the British Dueling League in the Twentieth Century,_ which played out some rather spectacular real life duels on painted animations similar to the ones in _Dueling Dynamics,_ but with statistics and biographies of the competitors in place of the in-depth analysis of the plainer book. _I can read one to understand the other._

His books cradled in one arm and the paper sack holding Hedwig's things and his money bag in his opposite hand, he took a step back from the table and turned around to head to the librarian's desk, nearly walking into the girl who'd just come down from the upstairs. She was carefully balancing a small stack of books with colorful bindings but she barely reacted to the near-collision, only tightening her grip around the books.

"Sorry," he said hurriedly, and he was, since he really wouldn't want to have bowled over someone who was actually smaller than _him._

She raised her gaze from the floor to eye-level, her silvery blue eyes going from glazed to intensely focused as she stared at him. It felt as though she was trying to stare him _down,_ and he unconsciously leaned back away from her. "No harm done," she eventually said in a surprisingly musical voice, sounding light and casual. She continued to stare, though her eyes gradually lost some of their clarity.

"Um, right," he said uncomfortably. He looked her over, wondering if she was one of _those_ types of magical persons, like Uric the Oddball. There wasn't any jellyfish on her head, though her wand was tucked behind her left ear and she wore two long strings of mismatched buttons as earrings. She was wearing a light blue robe opened over a pink shirt and a beige knee-length skirt. Before he could decide whether she was pretty or just pretty mental, she twitched her head slightly as though calling herself to attention, and the life returned to her expression as she seemed to see him once more.

She gave him an absent smile. "Good luck with your practice," she said politely, and continued on her way at a languid pace.

_Well. That's an odd one._ He shook his head a bit, unknowingly imitating the same motion the girl had just used. Going towards the front desk, he found himself following her through the shelves and came up beside her, slowing his steps. "What practice?"

Her head tilted so that she faced him as she walked and her eyes ran over him curiously. "Dueling. It's what you have the books for, isn't it?"

"Oh. Right." _That's a brilliant response, Potter. Can't we do better?_ "Thanks for the luck, then," he said with what he hoped was a smile. _I'll need it, if the last four years at Hogwarts have been anything to judge by._

A happy little hum was his only response, as she slowly turned her face away from him and towards the Head Librarian they were walking to.

He hung back then, letting her get to the desk first and waiting patiently.

"Miss Lovegood," Miss Pentwish greeted, "I thought I'd see you earlier than this. Too much summer homework?"

"Oh, nothing unnecessary, I don't think. Professor Snape gave a research project, and that was rather fun to work on. They're good practice for real investigations."

_Snape's homework was fun? Fun? What year is she in? Is that the same Professor Snape, or does Hogwarts have the evil half of a set of twins?_

"And how was your school year, dear?"

There was a moment's silence. "Interesting," she said in a distant-sounding voice, "I learned quite a lot."

"Oh," Miss Pentwish said in a slightly disappointed tone, "well, that's lovely dear."

"Yes," the girl, 'Miss Lovegood,' agreed as her mind came back into the room, "there's nothing quite as magic as understanding."

Miss Pentwish gave her a fond smile. "I can certainly understand _that."_ She passed the stack of books back and the girl took them, stepping back from the counter and walking away slowly.

Harry came forward with his own two books and set them down with his card on top.

"Found something to entertain yourself with?" she asked with a smile as she pulled the books over to her side of the desk and glanced at the titles. A slight frown flickered over her face as she saw them but then it was gone, and she flipped to the back of one and then the other, tapping with her wand first the card in the book and then Harry's library card. She looked up with a tired smile. "All settled then."

"Thanks," he said, feeling strangely shamed that he wasn't more friendly or talkative. "I'm glad Mister Fortescue sent me over," he offered in a quiet tone, "that Defense section is just - _huge."_

"Florean sent you?" Her eyes brightened and she smiled more brightly. "Oh, that man. Trying to shuffle you off to the History section?"

He blushed lightly. "Yeah."

"Well," she said with laughter in her voice, "_I_ won't tell on you." She tapped the two Defense books and gave him a wink.

He grinned in return. "Thanks. I'd rather not have lectures over ice cream. It kind of spoils things."

She nodded. "Just make sure you work your way over there _eventually._ With Professor Binns still teaching, I imagine _every_ Hogwarts student could use a good tour through the History section. Most especially in your OWL year."

"I will. Eventually." He tried to guess just when she had sat in Binns' class, since in spite of her mass of white hair she only looked middle-aged.

"He was still living when I went to school," she said as though she'd read his mind. "Not a whit less boring, in spite of it. Probably more so, as I never got to watch him float through his blackboard."

He gave a small smile. "It stops being cool after the first couple years, mostly."

She shook her head in exasperation. "I would _hope_ that the distraction wears off."

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked as the strain of his spent time continued to catch up to him.

"It's," she consulted a watch on her wrist which Harry wasn't sure he could read, "quarter after five."

"Oh." _Good thing the Knight Bus is always on call._

"Late?"

"Not yet. Goodnight, Miss Pentwish."

"Goodnight, Mister Potter."

He turned about and went back onto the alley street, starting up towards Diagon. He'd grab a bite to eat at the Leaky Cauldron and hopefully be home by seven, or else he'd be put under a bit more scrutiny than he cared to stand from his relatives, who had apparently been neglecting him while kept on a salary for nearly fourteen years.

* * *

The Knight Bus dropped 'Neville' off right where they had picked him up that morning. Harry gave a sigh, half content from the day he'd had and half exhausted at the thought of returning to Number Four. Setting his things down on the side of the road, he slipped his robe off over his head and folded the edges in, so that the trim wouldn't show. Hiding the paper bag and books in the middle of it, he wrapped it all up and hoped he could pass the bundle of cloth off as a jacket if he met up with a Dursley.

He took the walk home with a deeper feeling of accomplishment than sneaking in owl and wizard time in the local park had ever provided. _This must be what teenaged rebellion feels like. Real rebellion, not just the 'I don't want to live in a cupboard' stuff. I'm just normal all over, today._

When he got to the Dursleys', he took a deep breath outside the door, bracing himself for a random explosion. His aunt and uncle were never happy with him in general, but this summer they were acting borderline neurotic. He opened the door and slipped inside, shutting the door quietly.

"And where were you?"

Harry sighed in resignation. Vernon was seated on the couch in the living room, looking over his shoulder with a frown. _Of course he's frowning; he's looking at me._ "I was at the park."

His uncle scowled. "Dudley went to get you. He's told us you weren't there."

Dudley, slumped in an arm chair and previously staring listlessly towards the television, picked his head up at this and looked over at Harry as well. "I called for you," he added in a slightly accusatory manner.

_Did he actually go look? Chances are, no._ "I was sitting against a tree and I fell asleep. You probably just didn't see me."

Dudley nodded, placated by the lack of blame on his shoulders.

Vernon's face twisted in disgust but he turned back to the television all the same, muttering to himself, "Sleeping in the park like some bum..."

Harry gladly took the opportunity to retreat and went up the stairs to his room.

* * *

Hedwig was rudely roused from her sleep as her Harry crashed into the room, swinging the door closed with a snap and going over to his bedding where he set down a large bundle. She was less irritated by his inconsiderate behavior than usual and it took her only as much time as she needed to come fully awake for the reason to be clear to her. She cooed out to him and when he turned to her with a grin, she ruffled her feathers into order and lifted her head high, feeling a bit smug. Her master felt happy again. Not as he used to be but much more than he had been.

"Hey, girl," he said in a warm voice, "I got you something."

She hooted in interest. Though she would often bring him gifts of dead mice, he'd hardly ever reciprocated the gesture. Not that she was bitter about it, of course. No, she just blamed it on wizarding stupidity. Her Harry was a good boy, and the poor thing tried.

He buried his hand into the paper bag and withdrew a winged ball of white fluff. He squeezed it and the wings began flapping. It zoomed over to her and began circling her cage, occasionally squeaking like a mouse. Trying to ignore it, she looked back to her master. He had gotten her an annoyance which would make her hungry?

"Um, I got you some Owl Treats, too."

_Oh. Well..._ She gave a soft hoot, slightly appeased. Her Harry did try.

After opening the package and putting two of the large treats in her food dish, he sat on his bedding and chattered at her about his day away from the nest. She listened patiently, letting him carry on in his hushed tones until long after she would have normally left to go flying.


End file.
